


A Father's Pride

by Ireliss



Category: Alex Rider (TV 2020), Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Alternate Universe, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Mentor-Protégé Relationship, POV Outsider, SCORPIA!Alex, gen - Freeform, or "gen"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 09:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27968360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ireliss/pseuds/Ireliss
Summary: As part of SCORPIA's Board of Directors, John Rider had high hopes for his son but little time to raise him properly. The task was instead delegated to John's old protégé, Yassen.Now, with Alex in the middle of his first official mission for SCORPIA, John wonders if he had made a mistake.
Relationships: Alex Rider & John Rider, Yassen Gregorovich & Alex Rider
Comments: 28
Kudos: 121
Collections: AR Fic Exchange 2020





	A Father's Pride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Valaks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valaks/gifts).



> Written for the prompt: "SCORPIA!Alex has his favored strike team, but Dr. Three/John Rider is less than convinced that it’s because of their competence and more because of its Russian leader."  
> AU where John was never an MI6 double agent, drawing some inspiration from Pongnosis and their wonderful [The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10222295/chapters/22682429) for SCORPIA's day-to-day workings. Primarily set in the book universe although some elements from the TV show are included.
> 
> Many thanks to [Lil_Lupin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lil_Lupin/pseuds/Lil_Lupin) for your insightful feedback and encouragement!

Mondays are a special kind of hell. Between his hectic schedule and the old adage of _crime never sleeps,_ it’s been years since John Rider had a proper weekend, but Mondays still manage to be worse than the rest.

His day begins at eight o’clock with a two hour meeting and fails to improve from there. The ten thirty meeting is disrupted when Brendan Chase fails to show his face — a flustered aide tells him Chase is on urgent unavoidable business, but privately John thinks that Chase simply decided not to come, and so he didn’t. _Australians._ Still, an important merger deal is on the line, so John puts on his trademark smile and bears with it.

After a lacklustre lunch comes the first of his afternoon meetings. At two on the dot, his office door swings open to reveal an unlikely pair.

The first person to enter the room looks completely out of place in this hub of criminal activity: a boy, shaggy blond hair falling into his serious brown eyes, cheeks still round with youth. He is wearing a school uniform with a crisp navy blazer, and on the breast pocket is embroidered a school crest of gold and red thread partnered with a motto that reads _Incipit Vita Nova_ — _Thus begins a new life_. The overall effect is that of a schoolboy looking like he took a wrong turn somewhere during Bring Your Kid to Work Day.

Of course, SCORPIA would never host such a frivolous event, and Alex Rider is no ordinary student no matter what the uniform says. At fourteen, Alex had been the youngest ever graduate of Malagosto. Now, at sixteen, Alex is by far the youngest of SCORPIA’s elite field operatives, and John had been careful to select assignments where his son’s youth will gain them advantages they would otherwise never have.

The person that follows after Alex is a slim, pale man, picking his way into the room with a cat-footed grace. The man’s name had been stripped from him long ago; now, he is simply in SCORPIA’s books as “Yassen”. In his time Yassen had been one of the youngest students Malagosto had seen, but unlike Alex, he had failed his graduation assignment. It was only thanks to John’s influence that he is still alive and neither of them have forgotten it. Yassen’s road had been a long and tortuous one, culminating in a leadership position over his own strike team, now under Alex’s command.

“Alex.” John smiles warmly. “Have a seat. How was your flight?”

“Fine, thanks sir.”

Alex has grown into such a stubborn boy, John reflects. A good trait to have on the field as long as it’s tempered with wisdom, but it makes their relationship trying. “It’s good to see you again. Look at you, you’ve gotten taller! Do you want a drink before we start? Something to eat?”

“Let’s get the report over with. Sir.”

“Suit yourself.”

For the past few months, Alex had been undercover at the prestigious _Institut Rougemont,_ a finishing school in Romandy, Switzerland. At thirty-five thousand Swiss Franc a term, the institute markets itself as a miracle worker catering to the unique problems of the wealthy and dissolute — the perfect grounds for SCORPIA to start courting the next generation of the elite.

Retrieving a folder from his backpack, Alex flips it open and slides it across the desk. “That’s James Sprintz,” he says without further preamble. “Heir to the Sprintz weapons manufacturing empire and one of our key objectives for this mission.”

Speaking with rapid precision the way John had taught him, Alex gives a quick summary of the past few weeks: befriending James, the attempted kidnapping staged by Yassen and his strike team, the “rescue” by Alex that cemented Sprintz’s trust in him. His other objective, Fiona Friend of the Friend Foundation, is progressing less smoothly, but that isn’t a surprise. Alex has many skills. Talking to girls is not one of them. Something John will rectify soon, but for now, he lets it slide.

“Good work,” John says at the end. “And you’re on school break now?

“Three weeks, sir.”

“Excellent. Take the rest of the day off, we’ll talk more tomorrow. There’s a few short operations I think you’ll do well in.”

“Yes sir.”

But there is a wavering hesitation in the air — and that’s when it happens. Yassen takes a step forward. He’s so quiet and self-contained that it’s easy to forget he’s in the room, although John had never fallen into that trap; he was the one to teach Yassen that technique.

Yassen’s hand rests against Alex’s back. “We’ve discussed this.” His words are inflectionless.

“…Yeah.” Alex takes a breath and looks at John. “There’s something else. One of the students there. Her name is Kyra.”

“The hacker?”

“That’s the one. I think her skills could be useful.”

“But you didn’t want to bring her up at first. Why’s that, Alex?”

Alex shifts, glancing around the room, only stopping when his eyes land on Yassen who gives a minute frown and a small shake of his head. He faces John again. “I don’t think she’ll be that keen to join up, that’s all.”

“You like her,” John observes.

“We’re friends, I guess? But she’s really smart. I don’t know if she buys that hostage situation we set up with James.”

“Is she going to be a problem?”

“No,” Alex says, but a second too late. John frowns.

“Alex… I’d prefer to recruit her, but if she makes trouble, can I _trust_ you to handle it?”

“Of course,” Alex says immediately. His training allows for nothing else.

John isn’t convinced, but time is ticking on and another meeting beckons. “We’ll talk more tomorrow, all right?” He makes himself soften. Alex is a work in progress, but he’s still John’s son and heir. “Go enjoy your day. You’ve done a good job.”

It’s not until later that John replays the memory of their meeting over in their mind, focusing on the way Yassen’s hand had rested against Alex’s back, the way Alex had calmed under his touch. The way Alex had looked at him when he should be looking at John.

Trouble brewing on the horizon.

***

When John was thirty years old and Alex two, Helen came to him and said: “I’m taking Alex and leaving.”

John had helped her arrange everything: a new identity, housing, transport, a steady job.

Then he pointed her towards a chain of identity brokers that she could use if she wanted to. Not even John would be able to track her down. It was the kindest thing he could think to do for her.

Alex, though. Alex is _his._

***

“Mr Rider.”

_Bloody hell,_ where did Yassen pop up from? John keeps his expression open and friendly. “Evening, Yassen. I thought you went back to the safehouse with Alex?”

“Alex went on ahead with the rest of the team. I wanted a word with you first.”

Yassen’s presumption should rankle, except he probably spent a whole hour piecing together John’s schedule just to ambush him during the only fifteen minutes he had free this evening. John has to respect that dedication. “You know I’ve always got time for you. Here or back at my office?”

“This won’t take very long,” Yassen says, calm and quietly confident. “I think you should reconsider sending Alex off on a mission immediately.”

“Explain.”

“Subterfuge does not come naturally to Alex. This has been his first extended mission in deep cover and it has already lasted for several months. Some downtime would be beneficial for his long-term health and bolster him for the next semester. I would also like to implement a focused training regime. Alex is very bright and has been doing well academically, but Rougemont left little opportunity for him to keep up with training in the type of skills we value.”

“Is that right?” John’s expression is deceptively mild. “I thought I hired my son a mercenary, Yassen, not a nanny.”

Yassen shrugs with all the cool insouciance of a cat. “You knew who I was when you hired me, Hunter.”

It’s been years since John had been _Hunter,_ and even longer since they had been _Hunter and Cossack,_ but John knew perfectly well what he meant. Cossack had loved his mentor. That love had only grown stronger under John’s careful cultivation, especially after he had paved the way for Yassen to rise as SCORPIA’s foremost intelligence expert with enough accomplishments under his belt to blot out his past failure to take to the life of a cold-blooded assassin. Now Yassen can order massacres with a stroke of his pen.

Yassen was a useful tool to have in his arsenal, John had long ago decided. His decision to introduce Yassen to Alex was a calculated risk, especially considering how young Alex had been at the time, but it had paid off. Alex had been fascinated by the cool, remote figure of the Russian and thrown himself into his studies with newfound enthusiasm, and Yassen…

Well. John had hoped some of Yassen’s quiet devotion to him would transfer over to Alex. Now he wonders if he had miscalculated.

“Alex needs someone to push him. He’s had a target painted on his back since he was born and he’s only going to make a more attractive target now that he’s working in the field. He needs to be the best to survive. You understand that, right? He needs to be challenged, not have someone wipe his bum for him and kiss him better every time he runs into an obstacle.”

Unexpectedly, Yassen looks amused in that faint, understated way of his. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Am I wrong?”

“I love Alex,” Yassen says simply. “Enough to hurt him for his own good. That is not needed here.”

John exhales lowly. The last thing he expected was for Yassen to just come out and say it like that. “I have to say you’re not doing a very good job convincing me right now, or did you already forget the lesson I taught you about avoiding attachments?”

With a small shake of his head, Yassen dismisses his point outright. “You encourage attachments when it’s to your own benefit.” He had been carrying a thick manila folder which he now hands over to John. “This is a complete physical and psychological profile on Alex along with a proposed training regimen for the next three weeks. You should find it suitably challenging.”

“I’ll read through it tonight and give you my verdict tomorrow. But, Yassen? If I think you’re coddling my son, if I think you’re making him weak, there are going to be consequences. Do you understand me?”

“As you like.” And there it is again, the flick of Yassen’s pale lashes, the subtle hint of irony in those calm blue eyes. “As Alex’s father, you would know best.”

***

Later that night, alone in his study, John reads through the report. As expected, Yassen is concise but thorough. This could have been any one of the thousands of intelligence reports Yassen had written on persons of interest — indeed, John feels a strange moment of disconnect whenever he remembers this is a report his protégé had written on his son.

There is one glaring omission: the section on personal relationships. Yassen had detailed Alex’s relationships to the students of Rougemont, but John’s name and Yassen himself are conspicuously absent.

A laptop is open in front of John. On the screen is a camera feed. All of SCORPIA’s safehouses are under surveillance and Alex’s is no exception. Currently he’s in the living room with Yassen, who has no reason to be there; he and his strike team have their own designated accommodations. But Yassen had been with Alex the whole time. They had returned together from a run at seven-thirty, showered, then Alex had made the most of his day off and ordered something disgustingly fried and greasy for dinner. Since then they’ve been in the lounge together, Yassen reading through a stack of reports, Alex sprawled childishly on the floor and prodding at something on his tablet. Behind them, the television drones through some rubbish reality program.

The domesticity is tooth-rottingly sweet.

At eleven o’clock on the dot, Yassen stands, stretching gracefully. “Bedtime,” he says, in a tone that brooked no disobedience.

To John’s surprise, his wilful son doesn’t protest the end to his one day of freedom. He only yawns and climbs to his feet, the languid stretch of his body a mirror image of Yassen’s. John watches, frowning, as Yassen firmly steers the two of them into the bedroom, Alex allowing himself to be guided without even a single quip.

***

The office flu is in full swing this year. Despite mandatory flu vaccines and cheery HR posters emblazoned with _Protecting Your Workplace and You: Stay Home if You Have These Symptoms!,_ people still insist on coming into work sniffling and coughing. Probably it’s because of SCORPIA’s reputation of quite literally firing anybody deemed an unproductive worker, but there’s only so much John can do to repair the damage caused by years of mismanagement under egoistical megalomaniacs.

A little fear keeps things interesting.

It’s still deeply irritating when his chief financial analyst can’t stop wheezing and looking one step from death _right_ as they’re moving into the critical phase of negotiations for this merger deal, and John is in a mood when he returns to his office later that afternoon. Striding down the corridor, he hears voices. _Alex._ He’s dressed in sleek dark clothes today, leaning casually against the wall as he chats up Gav and Dan, the guards on duty. All three of them snap to attention as John approaches.

“Having fun?” He asks mildly, then shakes his head, forestalling any protests. “Alex, with me.”

Alex falls into step behind him as they move into the office. It’s become harder to read Alex as the years pass, especially since Yassen entered his life, but today John can feel a simmering frustration in the air.

He sits and waits, endlessly patient, making a show of rearranging his papers.

Alex waits as well. He stands, calm and poised, hands clasped behind his back, all that restless energy leashed.

Finally, John looks up with a small nod of approval. “You’re growing up. How are you, Alex? What’s on your mind?”

“Yesterday you said you were sending me on a new mission.” Alex’s words are careful and rehearsed, taking pains not to sound confrontational. “Today I heard you changed your mind. Did something happen?”

“Why don’t you ask Yassen? He was the one who made the suggestion.”

“Did that already, he pointed me to you.”

“That’s interesting,” John remarks calmly. “So you’re saying you do whatever Yassen tells you to, is that right?”

Alex scowls, then catches himself, schooling his expression into one very reminiscent of Yassen’s usual methodical calm. “You’re avoiding my question. Sir.”

“Take it up with Yassen,” John repeats, firm. “Actually, while we’re on the topic of Yassen, there’s something I want to speak to you about.”

Defiance flashes in Alex’s eyes again. John waits for anger, denial, one of Alex’s sharp retorts, but Alex reins himself in with visible effort. “What is it?”

“I think you have a good idea of what I want to say, even if you don’t want to admit it. Just look at your relationship with Yassen! Do you think it’s appropriate?”

“Yassen isn’t my servant,” Alex retorts, eyes narrowing. “I can listen to his advice if I want to. It doesn’t mean he’s suddenly the one in charge now or whatever you think is going on.”

“Not bad, Alex. I’m glad you understand the value of appearances.” John slips into a familiar lecturing tone; after all these years, he’s still nostalgic for those past days as a Malagosto instructor. “Yassen’s advice is usually worth listening to, but don’t forget you’re the one meant to be in charge here. People need to look at the two of you and think _you’re_ in control, not him. I don’t want anybody thinking you’re a puppet with Yassen as the master behind the scenes pulling your strings, do you understand?”

“Yes sir. Is that all?”

“Sorry, but no. There’s something even more important. Come on, Alex, you really don’t know what I’m about to say?”

Alex stays stubbornly silent.

With a rueful smile, John continues. “You’re not exactly filling me with confidence right now. But if you want to make me say it, then I will. You’re attached, Alex. Dangerously attached, and to _Yassen_ of all people. What have I told you about attachments before?”

“You can’t have attachments. You can’t have preferences. They get you killed.”

“At least you remember your lessons, even if you didn’t take them to heart.” Leaning forward, John stares intently at Alex. “Let’s hear you explain yourself.”

Alex stares right back. “There’s nothing to explain. Yassen’s the leader of my team. Of course we’re close.”

“Really? And the amount of time you spend together? The way you look at him? Did you think you won’t get caught, or do you think I’m blind or stupid? None of that is appropriate behaviour. None of it.”

John expected Alex to snap — was planning into goading him into snapping — but Alex stays stubbornly quiet. There’s a hint of Yassen in his mannerisms, the patient huntsman that can outwait even the most alert of prey.

With a sigh, John changes his approach. He sits back, loose and relaxed once more. “You know I’m only bringing this up because I’m worried about you.”

“Right.”

“Stop looking so sceptical, it’s true. You think I haven’t been in your place before? I have. It’s the easiest thing in the world to use attachments against someone and I don’t want to see you hurt that way. Or, even worse, being betrayed by someone you trust. The people we’re closest to are also the ones who disappoint us the most.”

“Yeah, I realised that,” Alex mutters under his breath.

John’s eyebrows climb. “Something you want to share?”

“No sir. Nothing. Anything else we need to cover off on?”

Stifling a sigh, John gets to his feet. He rounds the desk to stand next to Alex, clapping him on the shoulder. “I know the last few years haven’t been easy,” he says quietly, as though sharing a secret just for the two of them, “but you’ve done _so well,_ Alex. I’m so proud of you.”

Alex doesn’t respond, but John can feel a current of tension thrumming under his skin.

***

“I wish he’d stop pretending like he’s my dad,” Alex says later that day, sprawled out moodily in the saferoom.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

Yassen looks up from his stack of reports, giving Alex his full attention. “You were upset by your conversation earlier.”

“Did I look upset?” Restlessly, Alex kicks out his legs. In a loose t-shirt and shorts, tablet in hand and television blaring in the background, he looks very much like a teenager. “Maybe I was a little. It’s like — I don’t know. He had me put through RTI when I was fifteen and he didn’t even show up for it. You did. So what does that make him?”

Alex looks right at the hidden surveillance camera as he speaks, his dark eyes — John’s eyes — staring through the lens and straight into John.

***

“Right, if there’s nothing else…”

“Wait, actually, one last thing-”

John fights the urge to reach for the handgun he _technically_ isn’t supposed to have in his possession at the moment — contract negotiations are a weapons free zone for good reason.

Thirty minutes later — a full hour after the original scheduled end time for the meeting — John deeply regrets his restraint. Judging by some of the other faces around the room, he isn’t the only one. Ah well, too late now. He checks his watch again and curses softly, ducking out of the room ahead of the milling crowd. Too much wasted time. The merger deal needs his attention, but he promised to meet Three for lunch today and the doctor doesn’t look kindly on tardiness.

Right. Twenty minutes to get everything done. _Christ._

In the end, John doesn’t finish all his tasks, but the rest can wait until after lunch. Staying in Three’s good graces takes priority. The clock strikes twelve just as the smiling waiter leads him to their table. Three is already seated there, rising to his feet as John approaches.

They shake hands. Even that small contact makes John uneasy.

Three smiles. “Ah, John. I do appreciate you making the time to join me today, I heard you’ve had an unexpectedly busy morning.”

“Oh, it wasn’t too bad,” John lies through his teeth. It would be churlish to complain. He takes a seat, propping open the menu. “I had to cover a meeting for Brendan Chase — have you heard from him lately?”

“Not in person, although his deputy assures me everything is in hand and I’ve seen no signs of foul play.”

The unspoken _but_ hangs in the air. Chase conducts his affairs with a looser hand than most of the Board, but Board members don’t simply skip out on business deals with billions on the line. Especially not Chase, with his head for numbers and voracious greed to match. Something must have happened. Either Chase is no longer fit to be on the Board, or…

“Yes,” Three says quietly. “I foresee some turbulent times coming. But let us place our orders first, I appreciate you have a full schedule ahead of you today.”

“It’s not that different from any other day.” John smiles ruefully. Not for the first time, he envies Three his position at Malagosto. John had liked teaching, had liked watching his students develop under the guiding touch of his hand, but an active member of SCORPIA’s board doesn’t have the luxury of time to spend grooming the next generation of operatives. Hell, John can’t remember the last time he’s been on the field. All his work is done behind the desk now, an endless series of deals and contracts and acquisitions necessary to keep SCORPIA and all its offshoots running smoothly.

The talk turns to lighter topics as they wait for their food. “I heard Alex had just returned from his mission in Switzerland,” Three remarks.

“He’s here for a few weeks while the school break is on. I decided it would be good for him to go through a bit of extra training, shore up his skills before he has to go back to the institute.”

“I’m inclined to agree. You must be very proud of your boys.”

John pauses. “My boys?”

“Alex, of course, but also Yassen.” Three smiles. His hands rest on the table in front of him, folded elegantly together, the picture of harmlessness. John isn’t fooled. “Yassen in particular. You have done beautiful work on him, even if — I hope you won’t mind me saying — he has outgrown his adoration of you. But the mark you’ve left on him will be a permanent one, and I daresay he’s well on his way to accomplishing the same with Alex.”

“He and Alex are very close,” John says guardedly. “There’s nobody else I can entrust with Alex’s training.”

“No one except yourself, naturally. I find some matters require a personal touch. It is unfortunate your schedule won’t permit such a thing.”

Three’s expression hasn’t so much as flickered. He’s as mild-mannered and softly-spoken as ever, but John has the feeling of being chastised.

As if sensing John’s discomfort, Three smiles benignly. “You should be proud. Alex will make a worthy successor to you when the time comes.”

Footsteps on the carpet. The smell of seared meat. Their food had arrived. John barely notices.

“Maybe in another decade or two,” he says, aiming for nonchalance, but from the way Three’s eyes glitter with amusement, he had fallen short of the mark. “Alex still has a lot to learn and I’ve got plenty of years left in me before retirement comes calling.”

Three nods. His expression is inscrutable. “Of course. Now, shall we eat?”

***

Another day, another meeting that should have been an email. John is running on fumes. His sleep last night had been restless and disturbed, and he had woken up with grit in his eyes and a sour taste at the back of his mouth.

His mood doesn’t improve when he hears laughter coming from the direction of his office. It’s Alex, chatting up his guards again. John pauses some distance away, watching the flash of Alex’s smile as Gav says something, but then Dan spots him and all three straighten up.

“You two need to stop getting distracted by a pretty face,” John tells Gav and Dan without any real heat. Secretly, he’s pleased to see Alex using his charm to such good effect. He motions for Alex to follow him into the office, only for Alex to shake his head and hold out a stack of documents. A _thick_ stack. John fights back a groan.

“Just here to drop off some papers, sir.” Up close, Alex looks tired, eyes red-rimmed and a slurred edge to his voice that hadn’t been there on Monday.

John frowns. “You all right, Alex?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“You don’t sound well.” _Fucking_ office flu, he’s shooting the next person to come into the office with sniffles, HR be damned. “Go get some rest, that’s an order.”

“Sir.” Alex throws him a mock salute, the corner of his mouth dimpling with a cheeky smile, and for a moment some of the tension between them dissolves, melting into something free and easy.

Impulsively, John says: “We should have lunch together some time, before you’re due back at Rougemont.”

“Do I look that bad?” Alex runs a hand through his hair, turning away. When he looks back at John, it’s with the calm, clear eyes of SCORPIA’s heir. “I don’t know if you’re feeling sorry for me or what right now, but you don’t have to do that. Your time is worth a lot of money. Why have lunch with me when you’ve got business partners lining up for a chance to talk to you? You’re the one who taught me about networking, remember?”

Yes. John remembers. He remembers when Alex was younger, more expressive, openly disappointed whenever John’s work meant he had to cancel on Alex. Over time, that had faded into a studied indifference and then…nothing at all. These days, they don’t even arrange meetings outside of briefings and debriefings.

“Alex…” John hesitates, then stops entirely. There are too many issues festering between them to be resolved in the middle of a hallway in a SCORPIA compound. “Get some rest,” he says instead. “And let me know if you need anything, all right? Anything at all. I’m here for you.”

Alex, of course, does the exact opposite. John doesn’t hear anything more from him and it’s only thanks to the surveillance cameras in the safehouse that he sees the flu hitting hard over the next few days. Alex is a miserable huddle of blankets in the living room, snuffling and coughing his way through the extra stack of reading Yassen, merciless taskmaster that he is, had assigned in lieu of Alex’s usual physical routine.

Yassen himself is a frequent sight around the safehouse. He attends to his caretaking duties his trademark ruthless efficiency: cooking and cleaning, washing, delivering Alex medication and fluids at precise intervals.

Not for the first time, John is struck by how _cloyingly_ domestic all of this is. On camera, Yassen is ladling out a bowl of soup, clear broth packed with vegetables and nutrients. John observes him with mixed feelings. Surely there are people Yassen can hire for this sort of thing, a housekeeper or some other form of domestic help, someone he can delegate these unimportant tasks to while he attends to SCORPIA’s business. John has half a mind to speak to Yassen about the inefficient use of his time, but the quality of Yassen’s work hasn’t declined, and in the end John decides to keep the peace. It’s reassuring to have someone who has Alex’s best interests at heart.

Still. It nags at John, the improper closeness between Alex and Yassen. It goes far beyond that of a superior and subordinate. Hell, Yassen even doles out discipline.

On the fourth day, the extent of Yassen’s control over Alex becomes jarringly apparent.

The day starts off normally enough, with Yassen exiting the safehouse shortly after lunch to make contact with an informant, a meeting that had previously been arranged by John. Alex is left to his own devices. On previous days Alex had stayed in bed and drifted in and out of troubled, feverish sleep, but today John watches as Alex stumbles to his feet. He yawns as he changes into workout clothes, a light t-shirt yanked over his head coupled with a pair of shorts made from a thin, breathable fabric. Then he makes his way to the lounge and proceeds to shove aside all the furniture to clear a space for himself. His movements are stiff and slow, lacking their usual grace — worrisome, considering Alex hasn’t even done anything particularly strenuous yet. John’s frown deepens as he watches Alex struggle through warm-up for a good ten minutes, the effects of the flu growing more pronounced than ever with each set of stretches. He stops often to clear his nose, mopping sweat from his forehead.

Alex forces his way through anyway, bull-headed as always. He’s in the middle of some jumps when Yassen slips into the room. Instantly, Alex snaps to attention.

“Yassen! You’re back early.” From Alex’s guilty expression, he isn’t meant to be out of bed.

“Yes,” Yassen says evenly. “But don’t let me stop you. Are you attempting your full routine?”

“No, actually, I was just about to stop.”

Yassen glances around the room. “After you expended so much effort to set up an appropriate space for exercise? No, Alex, I think you should finish what you started. Continue.”

Much to John’s surprise, Alex does as he’s told. What follows is an uncomfortable two hours of watching Alex huff and puff and sweat his way through increasingly strenuous exercises until his whole body is trembling and he can barely lift his limbs. Even then, Yassen still doesn’t tell Alex to stop, no matter how many looks Alex shoots him. John has his own work to do on the side, but he listens in on Alex’s ragged, congested breathing, and every time he glances up at the screen he sees the shift in Alex’s attitude, from resentment to anger to stubbornness to complete exhaustion.

Then, astonishingly, Alex _apologises._ “I’m sorry, Yassen.” It’s clear Alex hates saying the words, but he forces them out anyway as Yassen looks at him in expectant silence. “I should have listened to the doctor’s orders.”

Surely that will be the end of it, Alex apologising is in itself a miracle. But to John’s surprise, Yassen continues to say nothing. He simply sits there, waiting, and Alex is the one to give in.

“I was too impatient,” he admits with ill grace, only to look properly contrite as Yassen gives him a look.

“We’ve discussed the consequences of your impatience before.”

Alex nods. He licks his lips; the fever had made them much redder than usual. “Pushing myself too hard too early is only going to make the rest of my recovery go even slower. It’s short-sighted.”

Yassen nods. “It is not the first time your impatience has gotten the better of you, but we will repeat this lesson as many times as it takes. Perform your cool downs, shower and change, then come back for dinner.”

After that it’s as if nothing had happened. There’s more homemade soup for dinner, then medicine, then the usual nightly routine of intelligence reports and quiet study. The only change is that Alex looks worse than he had the day before, ashen-faced as he alternatively shivers under the weight of two heavy quilts then throws them off with a muttered complaint about the heat. Fever chills. Not a good sign.

Yassen handles it with his usual calm efficiency, bundling Alex into the bedroom earlier than usual. The last thing John sees that night — the thing that sends genuine unease running through him — is Yassen setting a cool towel against Alex’s sweat-soaked forehead, fingers carding briefly through Alex’s hair in an unconscious gesture that speaks of long, intimate familiarity.

***

One week later, the day comes for Alex to return to Switzerland and Rougemont _._ The merger is taking up all of John’s time — Chase _still_ hasn’t shown his face — and he can only scrape together a few scarce minutes to see Alex off.

Alex still looks sick. Dark circles of fatigue ring his eyes, his usual watchful energy replaced by a constant low-grade fog of exhaustion. He leans against the car waiting to take him and his strike team to the airport, every movement weighted and weary.

“You look terrible,” John tells him bluntly. “Get some sleep on the plane.”

The look on Alex’s face is all obstinate sarcasm. “Thanks for the concern.”

“Alex,” comes a low reprimand from behind them. Yassen joins them with a nod to John before turning to Alex again. “The team is ready.”

“Great. Let’s go.”

“Wait, Alex. I want a word with you,” John states. “In private.”

Annoyingly enough, Yassen ignores the obvious dismissal, choosing to look to Alex for further orders. Alex shakes his head. “Anything you want to say to me, you can say to Yassen.”

“Absolutely not. What’s gotten into you? You know this isn’t acceptable behaviour.”

“Oh, now you decide to sound like a parent.” Alex sneers. His eyes are bright, glittering with reckless feverish heat. “Did you want to play pretend today? Is that why you came to see me off?”

Yassen intercedes. “ _Alex._ ” Four quick flowing steps and he’s right next to Alex, leaning down to murmur something in his ear, too low to catch. The collar of his jacket conceals his mouth, preventing John from lip-reading.

Some of the fight seeps out of Alex. He nods in response to something and Yassen steps back, moving a respectful distance away, far enough that he can’t eavesdrop. It’s only an illusion of privacy — Alex will relay everything to him afterwards anyway. But John decides to pick his battles.

With a grimace, Alex looks him squarely in the eye. “Sorry. It’s the medication, it just…” He trails off, waving a hand vaguely at his own head.

“Erases your filter completely?” John says dryly. “That’s no excuse, especially when you’re heading straight into a mission after this.”

“Yeah. I know.” Alex shrugs, folding his arms. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you.” He looks in Yassen’s direction and Alex follows suit, everything about him radiating prickly defensiveness. Already John knows this conversation won’t go well. “Have you thought about that talk we had, the one about attachments?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Go ahead.”

Alex’s sullen calm shatters, anger blazing through cracks. “It’s rubbish,” he snaps. “All of it, it’s complete rubbish! You think I _want_ to be like you? You think I want to be someone with no family, nobody to trust, nothing in life except work and more work?”

The flu had taken its toll on Alex’s body. He stands there, panting for air despite the short length of the outburst, and John can hear the rasp of illness in his breath. He hopes Alex isn’t going to pass it on to him.

He shouldn’t have come to see Alex off, John realises. It’s always a shame when a thoughtful gesture backfires, but John should have known better in the first place. The rift between them is too deep to be mended by a few minutes of interaction here and there. Doctor Three was right; a more personal touch is needed.

Alex is still glaring at him. “I don’t understand you.” His voice is hard. At that moment, the stubborn set of his jaw reminds John very much of Helen. “Why did you keep me when you don’t even want me?”

“Who said anything about that?” John replies, perfectly calm. God, how did things get so bad without him noticing? “I love you, Alex, and I’m very proud of you, but to be honest I’m also quite disappointed in you right now. You’re too old for these hysterics.”

A short, bitter laugh. “Hysterics, right.” But at least Alex had calmed down, the professional mask firmly in place once more.

“See? That’s better, isn’t it?”

“Are we done here?”

Are they? John doesn’t think so, but the situation needs a delicate touch. He can’t simply dole out the punishment he’d like to.

“Actions have consequences,” he says evenly. “You always had a hot temper and I don’t blame you for that, it’s something you were born with. I hoped Yassen would be a moderating influence on you but clearly that hasn’t worked.”

Alex’s whole demeanour shifts. It’s a subtle change, but John can feel tension gathering in the air, Alex’s simmering but unfocused anger now honed into a precise edge. “So, what, are you threatening to separate us unless I fall into line like a good little boy?”

“If that’s how you like to think of it. If it was me, I’d say it’s a matter of incentive. Convince me you and Yassen are better off together than apart. Not right now obviously, you’re already running late, but I’ll be checking in on you in Switzerland. I expect you’ll have taken some time to reassess your priorities by then.”

He claps Alex on the shoulder as he turns to leave, only for Alex to shrug him off.

***

Two days later, John is busier than ever as the deal inches towards completion. In one of his rare moments of downtime, he takes out his personal phone and places it on his desk, staring at it with an intent frown.

He regrets his words to Alex. Strong-willed and stubborn as he is, intimidation had never worked against Alex — quite the opposite, in fact. John wouldn’t be surprised if Alex is plotting against him at this very moment. The logical thing to do would be to call him up, apologise, start again. Lure him in with that praise and approval Alex so desperately craves deep down inside, a craving John had instilled in him from his earliest days. The situation is still salvageable.

But whenever John reaches for his phone to make the call, some unknown source of reluctance weighs down on his limbs. Guilt? Regret? Fear?

He sits there in meditative silence, then his phone chimes with a reminder of his next meeting and the moment is lost.

***

Three days after Alex’s departure for Switzerland, the choice is taken out of John’s hands.

9:50 in the morning. John is rapidly revising his notes for the upcoming meeting, intended to be the final round of negotiations. Well, they’ve already had multiple “final rounds” before, but John has a good feeling about this one. The only major sticking point lef-

His phone rings. The personal one, chiming with the tone he had assigned to Alex. John picks it up with a frown.

“Alex?”

“Not quite.”

John exhales. “Yassen.”

“Yes. We’ve had an unexpected development. You should call Alex, he has his other phone with him.”

Yassen is a difficult man to read at the best of times, never mind over the phone, but today there’s a strange edge to his voice. Some sixth sense stirs, twitching uneasily. John drums his fingers against his desk. The meeting notes stare back at him.

“What’s going on? I’m busy right now, I can’t-”

“Call him,” Yassen repeats, and hangs up.

***

Alex is sixteen now, sixteen and fiercely independent. Alex has been trained since birth. Alex’s assignment is a low risk one. Alex has Yassen and his whole strike team with him.

These thoughts scroll through John’s brain over and over again as he sits through the negotiations. During the first fifteen-minute break of the day, his aide darts him a concerned look, and John takes a deep breath. Right. Focus. It’s out of his hands now; Alex is in Switzerland and John is here. In a way, he’s safeguarding both their futures. Mergers and acquisitions are the primary means SCORPIA uses to expand its power, subsuming rival operations under their control. Flashy terrorism is expensive and risky. All the real transfer of power happens over negotiating tables — and sometimes, under them.

Inhale. Exhale. Count to ten, focus on the present. Little meditation tricks, but they do the job, and when John re-enters the negotiating room it’s with a clear head, all thoughts of Alex swept clean from his mind.

But once he’s alone that night, John’s worries return in full force. His hands are stiff and ungraceful as he pulls out his personal phone and dials Alex’s number.

For a long minute, there’s only the dull blare of the ringtone. John forces himself to sit still and wait it out. He’s sure it’s about to go into the dreaded dial tone then voicemail, but suddenly there’s a click and Alex’s voice: “Hey.”

“Alex.” John can’t quite keep the worry out of his voice and he doesn’t try. “What happened?

“What do you mean?”

“Yassen called earlier, he seemed to think there’s something I need to know about.”

“Oh, that. It’s,” Alex hesitates, “it’s being handled. I’ll take care of it, I promise.”

John’s alarm grows. “And what’s this ‘it’ you’re talking about, Alex? You know I’m here for you.”

“…I haven’t been thinking clearly,” Alex says in a rush, a guilty confession. Even over the phone, John can hear the congestion clogging his voice. “I wasn’t careful enough, said some things I shouldn’t have.”

“Are you all right?” _Is your cover blown? Do you need an extraction?_

“I just, I need to decide what to do, that’s all.”

Perplexed, John taps his fingers against the desk. Alex knows the standard protocols in event of a security breach. Containment. Elimination, if necessary. “Is there a problem?”

There’s a long silence. “It’s… It’s someone I used to look up to,” Alex says haltingly. “Someone who was important to me. Now I’m wondering whether I knew them at all.”

Who could Alex possibly be talking about? John casts his mind back to the debriefing three weeks ago. “Kyra?”

Silence, again. It tells John all he needs to know.

Suppressing a sigh, John closes his eyes, pondering the best way to approach this. Relationships are such messy things. “I’m sorry, Alex. You know your orders. Do you see why we had all those talks about attachments?”

The silence continues. For all John knows, Alex had dropped the phone to the ground and walked away.

“Do what you have to,” John says, final. “We’ll talk when you get back.”

***

One thousand kilometres away in Switzerland, Alex sets down his phone. He stares blankly at it for a long second, then looks at the other men in the room with him.

Yassen meets his eyes evenly. It’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. “Did you find the answers you were looking for?”

“…Yeah.”

***

All hell breaks loose the next morning with a single, slim report: Brendan Chase had drained over forty million dollars from SCORPIA’s funds and deserted.

The next few hours are a blur of activity as more documents come piling in: transaction details, names, timelines. Nobody has the faintest idea of Chase’s current whereabouts until a sudden breakthrough mid-morning — security footage of Chase at the Basel Airport two days ago, looking for all the world like a carefree tourist backpacking around Europe.

Basel. Switzerland. _Alex._

John has his phone in hand, ready to call, but then a strike team drags in a member of Chase’s inner circle and John has to put on his gloves for some hands-on work.

It’s late afternoon by the time John drags himself back to his office where a daunting pile of reports undoubtedly waits. Gav and Dan are on duty again today, both throwing a smart salute as they see John.

“Your son is waiting for you inside, sir.”

John blinks. “Alex?”

“Yes sir.”

“He’s supposed to be in Switzerland.” In all the chaos today, he had completely forgotten about Alex and his troubles with that girl, what’s her name, Kyra. “Did he look all right?”

“No obvious injuries, sir, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Something isn’t adding up. His sixth tense twinges again.

“He had two of his strike team along with him,” Gav says reassuringly. “I’m sure they kept him safe.”

Two? “You searched them for weapons, didn’t you?”

Gav and Dan exchange an uneasy look. “Of course.”

But possibly not well enough; the two of them always had a soft spot for Alex. Damn. John resists the urge to rub at his eyes, the beginnings of a headache throbbing under his skull. “All right. Stay on alert.”

“Want us to come in with you, sir?”

“No, that’s all right.” If anybody sees just how strained his relationship with Alex is, the gossip would be all over the compound by dinner.

John steels himself and steps into the office.

Alex is sitting in _his_ chair, settled comfortably behind the desk as if this is his own office. As always, Yassen is his shadow, slim and pale. He looks troubled, although it’s subtle enough that John doubts anyone except him or Alex could tell, but then Yassen’s eyes settle on John and the minute frown on his face smooths away into unreadability.

The third and last person in the room lounges against the wall. It’s a tall, fair-haired man with suntanned skin and a deceptively friendly face roughened with stubble.

_Brendan Chase._

“Close the door behind you and sit down, dad.” Alex’s eyes are as steely as the metallic glint of the pistol in his hands. “Let’s talk.”


End file.
